


Halo

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 21:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: “You are a stalker!” she bit out as she whipped out her knife and pressed it to his throat. She was surprised when his lips curled into a smirk and one eyebrow arched cockily. “I suppose that’s true, in a way,” he replied casually. A Captain Swan story based on Beyonce’s “Halo”.





	Halo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [effulgentcolors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effulgentcolors/gifts).



> Happy birthday, @effulgentcolors! You are a precious gift to this fandom, filled with so much talent. I have read everything you’ve written, including your amazing first book of short stories, 12. (Everyone, I don’t care if it’s described as a collection of holiday short stories, go buy it and read it right now!) When I get a comment from you on one of my fics (which are always so lovely), I feel like a fangirl. As I was thinking about what to write for your birthday, I thought about your book and the theme of angels you wove through it. Beyonce’s song “Halo” has always reminded me of Emma in that very first stanza, so here is my fic version of that song. I hope you like it!

_Remember those walls I built_    
 _Well, baby, they're tumbling down_    
 _And they didn't even put up a fight_    
 _They didn't even make a sound_

_I found a way to let you win_    
 _But I never really had a doubt_    
 _Standing in the light of your halo_    
 _I got my angel now_

Everyone thought Blue enjoyed this part of her job – taking away an angel’s wings – but the truth was, it was never an easy decision to make. Which was probably why she gave August way more chances than she should have. As soon as the dejected fallen angel shuffled from the room, Blue sagged into her chair. Tiger Lily was at her side in an instant.

“You had no choice.”

Blue sighed. “I know. I think what bothers me more is the mess he’s left for his charge. And now she needs a new guardian.”

“Have you considered Killian?”

Blue furrowed her brow. “A purgatorial angel? When an angel of rank failed?”

Tiger Lily shrugged. “He must earn salvation somehow, and there’s also the prophesy -’

“Which is exactly why I must be cautious!”

“But perhaps we’ve been interpreting the prophecy wrong all this time. Perhaps she isn’t the savior of all men, but just one.” 

Blue arched a brow. “I’ve never seen a cherubim take such interest in a candidate before.”

Tiger Lily sighed. “I can’t help it. His pain runs so deep . . .”

**************************************************

The first time Emma Swan noticed him, she was marching across the street, heedless of the traffic as she chased after her skip. She saw a flash of black and red out of the corner of her eye just as the sound of squealing tires rent the air, but she ignored it to confront the asshole she was after. Once she wrestled Ryan out of his car to handcuff him, her eyes found a startled pair of blue ones just before the dark figure melted into the shadows of the alleyway. 

After that, she seemed to constantly notice that long, black coat and those piercing blue eyes in her peripheral vision.  When approaching a skip after a long stakeout, when tripping up the stairs in her apartment building with her arms laden with groceries, even once outside her car window when she slammed on her brakes, narrowly missing a truck that was running a red light. She could never make out his face, just those blue eyes that seemed so focused on her, always melding so quickly into the shadows. And that black coat he wore, with something of deep crimson beneath, only added to the aura that made a chill run up her spine. 

Emma Swan did not let anyone intimidate her. Whoever this guy was, she planned to confront him. With that decision made, she slipped a knife in her boot before heading to her favorite dive bar. He seemed to make his appearance most frequently in seedy places, and she was itching for a confrontation.

Sure enough, when she left the bar a few hours later after shoving off a rather unpleasant man who had gotten too handsy, there he was. 

“Hey!” she shouted, and the man’s coat swirled around him as he dashed down the alley. 

 That coat was his undoing, for while he was swift, she was more so in her much more sensible red leather jacket. Not to mention the lapels of the coat were ostentatiously large, providing her with an easy way to yank him to a stop and shove him into the wall.

“You are a  _stalker_!” she bit out as she whipped out her knife and pressed it to his throat.

She was surprised when his lips curled into a smirk and one eyebrow arched cockily. “I suppose that’s true, in a way,” he replied casually.

Emma pressed the blade further against his skin. “Not helping your case, buddy.”

He tilted his chin away from the blade, yet he still seemed completely unperturbed. “All I meant was there’s a fine line between stalking someone and looking out for them.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Let me clue you in. I’ve never been a  _Twilight_ fan. I don’t find creepers who loiter around and watch women while they sleep romantic.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about love, but I can promise you have nothing to fear from me.”

As if to prove he was harmless, he lifted his arms, and Emma shouted a warning as she pinned both back into the wall by the wrist. She was startled to discover that the left had a blunted end. He was missing his left hand. 

“You’re only subduing me because I’m letting you,” he told her calmly. 

Emma’s breath was coming out in pants from all the adrenaline, but as she assessed her current position and felt the muscled arms beneath her palms, it gave her pause. The alley was only half lit by a flickering streetlight near the bar, but even in the shadows, she could tell the man was slender yet well built. She had also been on the streets enough to recognize a confident fighting stance when she saw one. Neither did she detect anything but honesty in his words. She eased her grip on his arms and took a tentative step back. He sighed in relief, pushing away from the wall and rolling his shoulders to loosen them. 

“Just because you don’t plan to hurt me doesn’t make it okay for you to follow me around,” she told him warily. 

His jaw clenched, and something sparked in his eyes. “It isn’t as if either of us has a choice in the matter.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his temple. Several gaudy rings on his fingers caught the light from the streetlamp. “Listen,” he finally said, “if I show you something, do you promise not to freak out?”

“No way, pervert!” Emma cried, backing away, hands raised. 

“I didn’t mean . . .  _that,”_ he said indignantly. 

“You’re not showing me anything, and you’re sure as hell gonna stop following me around. Got it?” 

She didn’t wait for his answer before taking off as fast as she could.

**********************************************

She saw him again only a few days later as she walked to her car in a parking garage after buying a new pair of boots. She had waited until her old ones fell apart – literally. She’d almost sprained her ankle chasing down a skip and had no choice but to head to the mall on her way home. She hated shopping, so she was already in the worst possible mood. 

“I told you to stop following me,” she snapped as she unlocked her car. She refused to make eye contact with the bastard even as he stepped out of the shadows and closer to her.

“And I told you I had no choice.”

“Bullshit.” She flung her shoes into the backseat, then slammed the door shut. She spun to face him with fire in her eyes. She was shocked to see him with hunched shoulders and a downcast expression.

“Use your super power.”

Emma blinked in surprise. His lips curved into a smile. 

“Yes, I know about that. So do it. See if I’m lying.”

Emma swallowed hard as he took a step closer. The light of the parking garage illuminated him fully, and she finally got a good look at him. Handsome as sin, that’s what he was, with dark unruly hair, a strong jaw covered in facial hair, and sparkling blue eyes. A scar on his cheek marred the perfection, which somehow only made him more appealing. She forced herself to scrutinize his face for tells, especially his eyes, and found none.

“Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true,” she finally told him grudgingly. 

His lips curled into a smile that would have made a lesser woman go weak in the knees. “Nor does unbelief affect truth. Wouldn’t you say?”

She shook her head. “What are you talking about? You’re following me, and I asked you to stop. You didn’t listen, so now I’ll have to call the cops.”

She turned to reach for her car door, but he reached out and gently took her wrist. “Please, Emma, let me explain.” 

“And how do you know my name?” she hissed through clenched teeth, yet she didn’t pull away from his grip. 

“It’s like I said, I’ve been looking out for you.”

At that, she jerked her arm away. “I can take care of myself.”

He quirked that damn brow again. “Oh, I’ve noticed, believe me. But even you couldn’t have stopped that car from running you over when you were going after Ryan. You couldn’t see your skip’s associate coming up behind you on your stake out. You wouldn’t have survived the bash on your head if you had stumbled down those stairs, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop your car in time from that truck running a red light. And that night at the bar? That lout decided against dragging you away when he saw me standing nearby.”

Emma’s eyes widened at each word. He was invading her personal space now, his nose almost brushing hers. 

“And just now?” he continued. “That mugger in the shadows decided against going after your purse when he saw me looming nearby. Now whether you like it or not, I’m stuck with you. Or you with me, if that’s the way you want to look at it.”

He was breathing heavily, and the look in his eyes was almost dangerous. Yet she still knew instinctually that he wouldn’t hurt her. He stepped several paces backwards away from her, and extended both arms, his missing hand more noticeable with the dramatic gesture.

“Now lass, do be calm as I show you what I wanted to the other night.”

Emma’s eyes were already as wide as saucers, so when the enormous pair of white wings unfurled from his back, her jaw dropped. Then she gasped as a bright white light seemed to envelop his head, illuminating the blue of his eyes like sapphires. The wings, which were of pure white, stood out starkly against his black clothes. At first they were spread wide as if he could take flight at any moment, but then he exhaled, and they folded in, relaxed against him. Emma drew close to him, hesitant. 

“Those . . . those are . . .”

‘Wings? Aye.”

“And that’s . . .” Emma lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, “a halo?”

He cleared his throat, a blush tinging his cheeks. “That’s what they call it, aye.” He ducked his head in a bashful way and scratched behind his ear. Which were slightly elf shaped, she suddenly noticed. Did all angels have elf ears?

Wait . . . an angel? What the hell . . . 

“Don’t tell me you’re my . . .”

“Guardian angel? Aye, lass.”

Anger sparked in Emma’s eyes. “Well, if you ask me, you’ve done a piss poor job of it!”

He called her name as she marched back to her car, but she ignored him. She half expected him to magic himself, or whatever the hell angels called it, into her backseat or something, but he didn’t. She drove home, hands shaking. Tears pricked at her eyes even as she barked a cynical laugh. Emma Swan had a guardian angel? Wasn’t that the joke of the century?

**************************************************

HIs brow arched as he took a seat across from her at the coffee shop the next morning, his gaze landing on the way she clutched her butter knife in her fist. 

“You know that won’t hurt me, right?” 

Emma just glowered at him as she released her grip. He inched his hand across the table hesitantly, lightly brushing her clenched knuckles with his fingertips. She hated to admit, but it soothed her. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” she grumbled. “This may be New York, but even here, you’re attracting attention.”

He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Alas, there are no costume changes where I come from. This is what I died in, so . . . “ he shrugged one shoulder as if his own death were of little consequence. 

“Wait,” Emma said, raising one hand, “I thought you were an angel, not a ghost.”

“There are no such thing as ghosts, Swan,” he said with an infuriating  _don’t you know that_  look upon his face. “there are, however, purgatorial angels.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “Purgatorial angels?”

“You’ve heard of purgatory, I wager?”

Emma nodded.

“Well, let’s just say I have quite a few centuries of atonement to work through before I can . . . move on.” 

Emma leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed. “Okay, then. You got a name?”

He smiled charmingly and tilted his head a bit regally. “Killian Jones at your service.” 

Emma couldn’t help smiling back. “So you save me from tumbling down stairs and getting run over by cars, but not from drunken foster fathers or dick boyfriends? Are there rules or something?”

Killian’s face melted into one of genuine tenderness. He boldly took her hand firmly in his, rubbing the back gently with his thumb. 

“I’ve only been your guardian for a couple of months, Swan. The one you had before, I’m sorry to say, didn’t do right by you. He was stripped of his wings, and I was assigned to you instead.”

Emma bit on her lower lip to cover her own emotions. “Figures.” She pulled her hand out of Killian’s grip and clasped it with her other one atop the table. “Look,” she told him, leaning forward, “you’re stuck with me. I get it. You have to . . . get out of purgatory or whatever. But can you like, do it from a distance or something? So I don’t feel like there’s constantly someone over my shoulder? Can you be like, invisible or something?”

“Invisible we can’t do. Blend in, yes.”

Emma nodded firmly. “Good. Then blend in.”

He stood then, giving her a gentle smile. “As you wish.” He turned and began to walk away, then hesitated and looked back at her. “However, all you need do is call my name, and I’ll make myself known.”

He left the shop then, and Emma didn’t know why her hand trembled as she lifted her mug to her lips. 

******************************************************

Killian kept his word because Emma didn’t see him again after that, not even a glimpse of black leather or blue eyes. She had expected to feel relieved, but oddly, she wasn’t. She found herself longing to see him again. The only consolation was that he’d told her he was stuck with her – that he couldn’t stop following her even if he wanted to. So even if she never saw him, it was nice knowing he was there. For once in her life, someone had her back. 

Then  _that_ day on the calendar rolled around. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed when it hit her.  _He’s ten years old today_. The ache and the emptiness followed after the realization, the same old “what-ifs” playing in her mind. What if she’d held him? Would she have changed her mind? Would she have kept him? Was he happy wherever he was? What if he wasn’t? What if he hated her for what she’d done?

Emma tried to force herself to go about her day as usual, but she only made it as far as the couch. She didn’t care about eating, she didn’t even consider numbing the pain with alcohol. She felt this was her own personal purgatory, that every year she had to torture herself for being a horrible mother and doing what she always vowed she wouldn’t: abandon a child. 

She knew from years past how the day would go: staring blindly at the ceiling weighed down with regret followed by the gut-wrenching sobs. Emma Swan didn’t cry. Oh, no. She saved up her tears all year for this day. Her face was smashed into a throw pillow damp with tears when she remembered that something was different now. 

“Killian,” she whispered. 

Emma wasn’t sure what to expect, how long it would take to make himself known, or if she would have to explain her pathetic state. But as soon as the name left her lips, she felt a hand gently touch her head.

“Emma,” he said softly, and the couch dipped where he sat beside her.

She sat up and threw herself into his arms. On any other day, she would have been mortified at such a display, and probably would be tomorrow, but right now she just wanted to know she wasn’t alone. He held her tight, his blunted arm pulling her body close while his hand brushed through her tangled hair. She tucked herself right under his chin, clutching his leather jacket in her fists. Soon his chest hair was wet with her tears. He said nothing; he simply held her. 

Finally, her tears were spent and her head felt stuffy and her eyes blood shot. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. She didn’t know what else to say.

“Would it help if you could see him?”

Emma gasped and pulled away to look into his eyes. “You could do that?”

He smiled softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Aye. You wonder if you made the right decision, if he’s happy.”

Emma let out a shaky breath. “You know that because you’re my guardian angel.”

He cupped her cheek. “No. We can’t read minds, love. We’re educated on the background of our charges of course, so I knew about your son. But as to what you’re feeling, well . . . it’s just . . . you’re somewhat of an open book.”

Emma smiled shyly, ducking her head. He stood from the couch and reached out his hand. 

“Ready, love?”

One minute, Emma’s hand was resting in his, and the next she was standing with Killian behind a tree on a picturesque small-town residential street. 

“There he is,” Killian whispered in her ear, “his name’s Henry.”

Emma watched the boy Killian had pointed to hurry down the front walk of a large, white-columned house. He was adorable, a bit small for ten, with thick brown hair. He was dressed in a school uniform with a striped scarf around his neck like he was headed for a day of classes at Hogwart’s. Emma’s heart flipped in her chest.

“Henry!” a voice called from the doorway. A prim woman in a sensible pantsuit and heels raced elegantly down the walk after the boy. He turned and smiled as she handed him a metal lunchbox decorated with characters that Emma couldn’t make out from where they hid. Henry took the lunch as well as the hug and kiss from the woman. 

“That’s his mom,” Emma whispered. Her chest ached, because  _she_ was his mom, not this woman. But then she watched Henry and the woman smile at one another, and she smiled as Henry dashed down the block towards the waiting school bus, waving and shouting  _bye Mom! a_ s he went. As for the woman, she stopped at the gate of their white picket fence, smiling as she watched her son greet his friends. She didn’t go back inside until the bus pulled away. 

Emma swallowed at the lump in her throat. “She loves him.”

Killian stepped closer and put his arm around her. 

“And he’s happy,” she continued. 

Killian enveloped her in his arms as she turned seeking his embrace. 

************************************************

Other angels had told Killian that being ripped from a worldly assignment was jarring, but he never fully understood until now. He stood – or attempted to - before Blue, the room seeming to spin around him, the stark whiteness of the celestials a jarring contrast to the more muted color palate of terra firma.

“Killian, what do you think you’re doing?” Blue snapped.

He blinked, rubbing at his eyes, because it looked like there were two of Blue swimming in his vision. “Ummm . . . my job?”

Blue gave him a withering glare. “Do you know how many rules you just broke showing Emma her son?”

“But she was stuck, unable to forgive herself and move on -”

“It was her choice to have a closed adoption,” Blue cut off, “and though a guardian angel can bring comfort, it should not be offered in . . . physical ways.”

“All I did was hug her,” Killian’s fist clenched. 

“And teleported her, and spied on humans you aren’t assigned to. I’m tempted to take your wings here and now.”

“Please, no!” Killian cried out.

“Blue,” Tiger Lily said gently, “he has made more progress with Emma in just a few short months than August did in years. And need I remind you how many chances you gave  _him_.”

“You are my advisor, Tiger Lily, not my superior,” Blue bit out. 

“Please,” Killian asked, infusing his voice with as much humility as he could muster, “give me another chance. I can’t be yet another person who has abandoned her.”

Blue’s expression softened. “Okay, Killian. But must I remind you how this works? If you do your job well, you will have to leave her.”

Killian bit the inside of his cheek. The thought had plagued him often. Yet he simply bowed to his archangel. “Thank you.”

When Killian left to return to earth, Blue let out a long sigh. “I fear that this will not end well, Tiger Lily.”

“You mean because he’s fallen in love with her?”

*********************************************

Though Killian still kept his distance and blended in as Emma went about her day, she found herself calling for his company more and more when she was alone. It got to the point where the first words out of her mouth at the end of the day were, “Killian, I’m home!”

They would talk for hours, cuddled on the couch or over dinner. Angels didn’t  _need_ to eat, but they could. They also could drink, and even get drunk, though she’d watched Killian down copious amounts of rum with no ill effects. 

“Pirate, remember?” he’d told her with a wink. 

Now she knew the reason for the outlandish outfit he died in. He’d been a pirate. She listened with rapt attention, and sometimes laughter while he wove many fantastic tales of his adventures. But he shared the pain, too. It was little wonder she was an open book to him when they had so much in common: abandoned by their parents, forced to make a way in a cruel world when they were much too young, cold nights, empty bellies. He told her about the navy, then losing his brother and turning to piracy. He told her how he lost his love and his hand on the same day, his heart turning black with revenge in the process. 

His remorse for all his dark deeds ripped at her heart; surely his centuries of angelic servitude was enough to atone this man. For despite those past dark deeds, it was clear to Emma that Killian Jones deep down had a good heart. 

Emma talked as well, even though he knew the basics of her past. Never had she opened herself up so completely to anyone, not even Neal. It was one thing to share the facts, something else completely to share her feelings. Yet with Killian, she did. 

Angels didn’t need to sleep, so Killian would tuck her in, brush a kiss to her temple, then go find a book on the shelf in the living room to occupy him until morning. The longer time went on with their unorthodox arrangement, the more Emma yearned for him. Her eyes would drift to his lips, and the air would get heavy. Or her hand would grasp his for a long moment before he left her bedside. Yet how would that even work? Intimacy with an angel? What was that movie with Meg Ryan and Nicolas Cage again. . .  scratch that, Emma was pretty sure it didn’t end well. 

One evening, Emma came home to find the table set with a fancy tablecloth, candles, and a bouquet of flowers. Her favorite meal, grilled cheese and onion rings from the diner down the street, was laid out on her best dishes (a mismatched, chipped set picked up at thrift stores here and there, but still  . . . ) Killian stood there, grinning ear to ear. 

“Happy birthday, Emma.”

The smile threatened to split her face. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you will suffice,” he assured her as he pulled out her chair for her. 

When Killian settled across the table from her, a thought suddenly struck her, something he had said when they first met. He was stuck with her. Her heart sank as she watched him pour her a glass of wine. 

“Killian,” she said thickly, 

“Yes, love?”

Emma bit her lip, an ache filling her heart. “I love having you here.”

“I’m glad.”

“But . . . “ she took a deep breath before plunging on, “I don’t want you to stay because you have to. I . . . I want you to stay because it’s what you want. So, don’t feel like you’re stuck with me.” 

In her nervousness, she shrugged her shoulders. Killian, on the other hand, had a look of complete shock on his face. Then he turned pale and shut his eyes tight. 

“Emma,” he breathed out. The heartbreak in his voice nearly broke her own. 

“Hey, I’m not kicking you out,” she chuckled nervously. 

He searched her eyes intently. “Guardian angels are supposed to only be for children, Emma.”

She tilted her head. “But I had a crappy one for two decades.”

“Aye,” he said, managing only a half-smile as he placed his hand gently over hers, “and you had a tougher childhood than most. So they sent me, but now . . . “

He trailed off, and understanding dawned. Emma pulled her hand away and clasped it with her other in her lap. “Like Nanny McPhee.”

Killian furrowed his brow. “I always know when you’re making a pop culture reference.”

She smiled. “And I love that you never know what it is.” Her smile faded as she saw the depth of sadness in his eyes. “When I needed you, I didn’t want you. Now that I want you, I no longer need you.”

“And you have the mark of a savior, Emma,” he whispered in awe. He came around to her chair and pulled her right arm close, turning it palm up. His thumb swiped across the birthmark there, sending a shiver down her spine. “This isn’t just a birthmark. You were destined to save man. This man in particular. You’ve saved me, Emma. I can finally move on. My sins are atoned.”

Emma gasped as she realized what he meant. “No!” she cried as she jumped from her seat. She practically stumbled forward, and he caught her. The glow of his halo illuminated his countenance and his wings were on display. He hadn’t shown them to her since that day in the parking garage. She had a dreadful feeling she knew what that meant. 

“I wish I had more time,” he told her, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I don’t want to lose you!”

“And I don’t want to lose you.” He cupped her face with his hand. “Emma, before I go, I need to tell you. I love you.” He bent his head, but before his lips could meet hers, he was gone. 

“I love you too!” Emma cried, tears streaming down her face. She fell to the floor in her now empty apartment and pounded her fist to the ground. Wasn’t this how her life always went? No one ever stayed. 

**************************************************

If the light of the celestial halls in the first heaven was bright, then this was blinding. There was a long corridor flanked by white columns, and he knew without anyone telling him, that this was the second heaven. 

“Killian Jones,” a deep voice called, “come. It is time for you to go home where you belong.”

A door opened at the end of the corridor, the light emanating from it a comforting, ethereal glow. From what the ranked angels told him, this was the third heaven, the throne room surrounded by the lake of crystal and gems of lapis lazuli. He didn’t know what people did there, but for centuries he had longed for the one thing he had heard it offered: rest. 

Yet now that he drew close to it, the only thing he felt was regret.  _I left her. Just like everyone else._ He was probably the first man to enter his eternal rest with a tear tracking down his cheek. He stepped through and was forced to close his eyes against the sudden burst of rainbow-colored light. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he shook his head, sure he must be dreaming. He was in a park, and there, sitting on a bench a few feet away, was Emma.

“Swan?” he asked, voice tentative as if this couldn’t be possible. 

She gasped, her ponytail whipping across her shoulder as she turned towards him. She leapt from the bench, her face awash in amazement and pure joy. It wasn’t until she collided with him and he felt her warm and soft in his arms that he believed this was real. She pulled back, shaking him by the lapels of his coat. He noticed vaguely that his wardrobe had finally changed after three centuries. He was dressed in clothes of Emma’s time – jeans, a button-down shirt, and a short leather jacket. 

“How . . . how are you here?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” he gasped, “there was a corridor, and there was a voice, God I guess, and then he said I was to go home where I belong.”

“What?” Emma laughed, shaking her head. Then she surprised him by peppering his face with kisses. “I don’t care, I don’t care,” she murmured between kisses, tears pouring down her face, “you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

He pulled her close, his fingers threading through her ponytail, and pressed his lips to hers. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as Emma tilted her head to deepen the kiss. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, their tears mingling on their lips. When he finally pulled away, he cupped her face tenderly and pierced her eyes with his. 

“No matter what else may come, Emma Swan, I will always,  _always_  be by your side.”

“Good.” She told him, then yanked him close again and kissed him fiercely. 


End file.
